


On Angel's Wings

by snowfiregirl21



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4936945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowfiregirl21/pseuds/snowfiregirl21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Thomas, when Newt was a runner in the maze and everything just overwhelmed him.<br/>(aka the story of how Newt got his limp)</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Angel's Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarcastic_stilinski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_stilinski/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own The Maze Runner or its characters, that's on James Dasher (fuck and bless him)
> 
> i've been working on this for ten hours bc i'm distracted af and also school and it's now 2:31 am so i'm too tired to find typos i'm sorry

Running was an escape.

He ran because he had no other choice. If he didn’t, he would be driven insane by the shanks, practically children, constantly crying about how they didn’t know what happened and where were they and who were they, “Newt, help me!”

The “who am I?” queries wore off after a few days, but no matter how long the boys were there, the other questions persisted. Newt wanted to lock them all in the Slammer for a few nights, but Alby said that “wasn’t conducive to a calm atmosphere.”

Newt couldn’t stand it. Sure, when he had come up in the box, showing up in a huge empty field with some trees and a few scared kids, he had been rightfully upset, but he hadn’t been babbling on like a bloody baby.

He turned sharply, following Alby’s lead. Shaking his head free of these thoughts, he focused all of his attention on the boy in front of him. Getting lost in the Maze wasn’t really a thought he wanted to dwell on.

As he and Alby rounded the corner, he saw a wall covered in ivy, forming a perfect ladder of sorts. Definitely climbable, he noticed. Tucking that away in his mind, but knowing he’d never see it again, he and Alby ran out of the Maze.

Once their feet hit the soft grass of the Glade, Newt breathed a sigh of relief. The Maze may have been his way of running from reality, but he dreamed of an even greater escape. The perfect escape.

They were back long before their usual time, trying to get a headstart for this evening.

  
They had plans: they were going to hold their monthly campfire. It was the last day of the month, the day before the Glade would receive the next Greenie.

Newt and Alby walked to the cooking tent where Frypan  was stationed. Newt greeted him with a nod, Alby with a hello, and Frypan returned it with a, “don’t think I didn’t see you walking over here. You guys should run more; you could really use the exercise.”

Newt rolled his eyes. “Bloody hilarious, as usual.”

Alby grinned, “Always a pleasure, Fry.”

Frypan nodded, “Now get back to wherever it is you came from, because I need to get dinner ready for these shanks, and I could care less about why you’ve come over here, so scram.”

Alby merely shook his head, light-hearted as ever and put his hand on the small of Newt’s back, guiding him back before Newt could open his mouth and fire back a smart-aleck remark.

As they were walking away, Newt heard Frypan mutter, “sickening,” and get back to his work. While Newt was pondering that, he felt a jab to his side. His head shot up, glaring at Alby. “What’s your problem, mate?”

Alby grinned. “You were spacing out. I was trying to talk to you about the plan for tomorrow.”

Newt sighed. “Yes, the plan. Running. Waiting for the new Greenie. I think I’ve got it, Alby.”

Alby sighed, long-suffering, drawn out to match Newt’s. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’ll be getting up earlier, at sunrise. We’ll map the Maze for a few hours, then we’ll come back here. After we’ve finished, we’ll go about our day as normal, waiting for the new guy to arrive.” He paused. “Huh. Guess it’s not that complicated.”

Newt suppressed a snort. “What a surprise.”

Alby pushed him, a playful shove. “Yeah, yeah, shut up. Having a good time contemplating your death?”

Newt eyed him warily. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to _demolish_ you at the fight tonight.”

Newt laughed, “Oh, of course. No, I think I’m too busy thinking about how I’m planning on sleeping on the ground the rest of the night.” He plopped on the grass. “Starting now.”

Alby shook his head, fondness on his features. “Coward. See you at sunrise, English,” Alby grinned, heading back to his own hammock. Newt smiled at his retreating back. Alby was great, but he just didn’t understand. Alby didn’t understand the pain of living every day, he _couldn’t_  understand what he was going through... but it wasn’t like Newt could very well tell him what was going on, that would be putting a burden on him. An unnecessary burden, one only amplifying everything else on his shoulders.

Newt lay awake, looking up at the stars. He wanted to be comfortable, he wanted to be at peace. The stars made him calm, made him feel less lonely in this world. He stayed there for a long while more, waking up an hour before sunrise.

Newt walked towards the entrance of the Maze, steeling himself for going inside by himself. He took a deep breath and surged forward.

He ran, then jogged at a leisurely pace, then ran again. Running was something he could do, something that he was good at, something that he couldn’t mess up, something that made him feel _right._

Newt ran and ran and ran. He ran until his lungs were on fire, his legs were burning, his hair was a windblown mess.

He ran until he found a wall covered with ivy, barely climbable but just enough. It wasn’t the same one as before, it couldn’t be; the maze changed every night. He crawled up the wall, grabbing onto the ivy, finding footholds, hands curling into the vines, pulling himself up.

He threw himself onto the top of the wall the last few inches and simply breathed, his shoulders heaving up and down from the exertion. Unbelievably, he could see the glow of the sunrise peeking from the Glade. After a few minutes of looking at it, he changed his focus. Like everyone else there, he couldn’t remember anything about himself, other than his name.  

He tried to picture his life back home, wherever that was. He imagined he had a sister. An older sister? A younger sister? He wasn’t sure which, but he could see that he loved her regardless. She was kind, almost too kind, too naive, but her language was conflicting with her personality, having a mouth like a sailor. She was beautiful, and she was brilliant, always making people feel better when they were down, bringing a smile to their face even in their most depressing moments. Newt wiped his face, scoffing at tearing up over a person who wasn’t even real.

He saw a dog. He tried to picture what a dog looked like, but he was drawing a blank. He could only think of what a dog was supposed to be. His dog was like sunshine on a rainy day, salty air by the pier, warm blankets and cocoa in front of the fire. He smiled at the thought.

He supposed he had a best friend too. He imagined his best friend to be a year younger than him, completely opposite in looks as well. Where Newt was rather tall and blonde, his friend was of average height with dark hair. But he was loyal, oh so loyal. He was the calm before a storm, he was the smartest person in the room without flaunting it, he was determined, no doubt related to the Mule family. Newt snickered at his last comment, congratulating himself on being so clever.

He stood up, pacing back and forth on the top of the wall. He wasn’t worried about falling. He was in tip-top shape, muscular and well-balanced. Besides, he would welcome the fall.

That was what he came here to do in the first place. He came here to jump, to forget his problems. He came here to find his great escape.

Newt chanced a look and glanced below him. It wasn’t the highest point in the Maze, but it was certainly a long way down. It would be a cathartic experience, he thought, falling, free-falling, nowhere to go but down. It seemed fulfilling, frankly, a fitting end to his failed life here.

He closed his eyes and breathed again, a deep breath, making his last conscious breath count. He walked in place a few seconds, psyching himself up. Then Newt heard a muffled noise. He looked down and saw Alby and a few of the other Gladers. _No, no, no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening._ He’d prepared for this of course, but he didn’t want it to come to this.

He looked at Alby, couldn’t understand a word he was saying. He looked wrecked. His face was contorting in an ugly way, significantly different than his handsome self. Alby was breathing hard, trying not to lose it, choking back sobs.

Newt was trying to ignore it. He was trying to ignore the pang of pain in his chest, sharper than the Blades in the Maze. He couldn’t help but think about Alby, the one good thing about his life here.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Alby and how he’d taken him under his wing, how he’d helped him out, shown him around. Even though Newt himself was muscular and tall, it hadn’t mattered to Alby, he still protected and watched out for him with every fiber of his being. Alby was always there for him. Whenever he woke up in the middle of the night screaming, Alby was there. When he was sick, Alby was there. Alby liked to call Newt “the Glue” of the group even though Alby was the one in charge. Alby just cared _so much_ , and Newt couldn’t bear seeing him like this.

Before he’d entered the Maze, he’d plugged his ears with pieces of cotton for this very purpose: his ears plugged, he could barely hear a single word Alby was saying. He could see Alby’s lips form “please” and hear “don’t,” but the tear tracks on his face told him everything.

Newt shook his head, shouting “I’m sorry,” tears running down his face.

He stepped off the ledge.

He was falling.

He fell, spreading his arms, flying on angel’s wings.

He plummeted, the wind whipping through his hair.

He felt free.

He felt at peace.

He felt pavement, pain, pure agony.

He felt Alby’s concern pouring over him in waves.

He felt Alby’s hands, touching his face, his head, his arms, his legs.

He felt Alby shaking, the dam holding his tears back breaking.

He felt his own shame bubbling up and threatening to spill over.

He felt ashamed people had to see him like this.

But he felt no shame for what he did.

He only felt ashamed for his failure.

He felt ashamed for being alive.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ily


End file.
